handed it to Guerchard, whose eyes scanned it carelessly and then glued themselves to it.
“A gold-tipped cigarette…marked Mercedes… Why, your Grace, this is one of your cigarettes!”
“But this is incredible!” cried the Duke.
“Not at all,” said Guerchard. “It’s merely another link in the chain. I’ve no doubt you have some of these cigarettes at Charmerace.”
“Oh, yes, I’ve had a box on most of the tables,” said the Duke.
“Well, there you are,” said Guerchard.
“Oh, I see what you’re driving at,” said the Duke. “You mean that one of the Charolais must have taken a box.”
“Well, we know that they’d hardly stick at a box of cigarettes,” said Guerchard.
“Yes…but I thought…” said the Duke; and he paused.
“You thought what?” said Guerchard.
“Then Lupin…since it was Lupin who managed the business last night—since you found those salvias in the house next door…then Lupin came from Charmerace.”
“Evidently,” said Guerchard.
“And Lupin is one of the Charolais.”
“Oh, that’s another matter,” said Guerchard.
“But it’s certain, absolutely certain,” said the Duke. “We have the connecting links…the salvias…this cigarette.”
“It looks very like it. You’re pretty quick on a scent, I must say,” said Guerchard. “What a detective you would have made! Only…nothing is certain.”
“But it is. Whatever more do you want? Was he at Charmerace yesterday, or was he not? Did he, or did he not, arrange the theft of the motor-cars?”
“Certainly he did. But he himself might have remained in the background all the while,” said Guerchard.
“In what shape?… Under what mask?… By Jove, I should like to see this fellow!” said the Duke.
“We shall see him tonight,” said Guerchard.
“Tonight?” said the Duke.
“Of course we shall; for he will come to steal the coronet between a quarter to twelve and midnight,” said Guerchard.
“Never!” said the Duke. “You don’t really believe that he’ll have the cheek to attempt such a mad act?”
“Ah, you don’t know this man, your Grace…his extraordinary mixture of coolness and audacity. It’s the danger that attracts him. He throws himself into the fire, and he doesn’t get burnt. For the last ten years I’ve been saying to myself, ‘Here we are: this time I’ve got him!… At last I’m going to nab him.’ But I’ve said that day after day,” said Guerchard; and he paused.
“Well?” said the Duke.
“Well, the days pass; and I never nab him. Oh, he is thick, I tell you.… He’s a joker, he is…a regular artist”—he ground his teeth—“The damned thief!”
The Duke looked at him, and said slowly, “Then you think that tonight Lupin—”
“You’ve followed the scent with me, your Grace,” Guerchard interrupted quickly and vehemently. “We’ve picked up each clue together. You’ve almost seen this man at work.… You’ve understood him. Isn’t a man like this, I ask you, capable of anything?”
“He is,” said the Duke, with conviction.
“Well, then,” said Guerchard.
“Perhaps you’re right,” said the Duke.
Guerchard turned to Dieusy and said, in a quieter voice, “And when the scavenger had picked up the cigarette, did he follow the motorist?”
“Yes, he followed him for about a hundred yards. He went down into Sureau Street, and turned westwards. Then a motor-car came along; he got into it, and went off.”
“What kind of a motor-car?” said Guerchard.
“A big car, and dark red in colour,” said Dieusy.
“The Limousine!” cried the Duke.
“That’s all I’ve got so far, sir,” said Dieusy.
“Well, off you go,” said Guerchard. “Now that you’ve got started, you’ll probably get something else before very long.”
Dieusy saluted and went.
“Things are beginning to move,” said Guerchard cheerfully. “First Victoire, and now this motor-van.”
“They are indeed,” said the Duke.
“After all, it ought not to be very difficult to trace that motor-van,” said Guerchard, in a musing tone. “At any rate, its movements ought to be easy enough to follow up till about six. Then, of course, there would be a good many others about, delivering goods.”
“You seem to have all the possible information you can want at your finger-ends,” said the Duke, in an admiring tone.
“I suppose I know the life of Paris as well as anybody,” said Guerchard.
They were silent for a while. Then Germaine’s maid, Irma, came into the room and said:
“If you please, your Grace, Mademoiselle Kritchnoff would like to speak to you for a moment.”
“Oh? Where is she?” said the Duke.
“She’s in her room, your Grace.”
“Oh, very well, I’ll go up to her,” said the Duke. “I can speak to her in the library.”
He rose and was going towards the door when Guerchard stepped forward, barring his way, and said, “No, your Grace.”
“No? Why?” said the Duke haughtily.
“I beg you will wait a minute or two till I’ve had a word with you,” said Guerchard; and he drew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and held it up.
The Duke looked at Guerchard’s face, and he looked at the paper in his hand; then he said: “Oh, very well.” And, turning to Irma, he added quietly, “Tell Mademoiselle Kritchnoff that I’m in the drawing-room.”
“Yes, your Grace, in the drawing-room,” said Irma; and she turned to go.
“Yes; and say that I shall be engaged for the next five minutes—the next five minutes, do you understand?” said the Duke.
“Yes, your Grace,” said Irma; and she went out of the door.
“Ask Mademoiselle Kritchnoff to put on her hat and cloak,” said Guerchard.
“Yes, sir,” said Irma; and she went.
The Duke turned sharply on Guerchard, and said: “Now, why on earth?… I don’t understand.”
“I got this from M. Formery,” said Guerchard, holding up the paper.
“Well,” said the Duke. “What is it?”
“It’s a warrant, your Grace,” said Guerchard.
“What!… A warrant!… Not for the arrest of Mademoiselle Kritchnoff?”
“Yes,” said Guerchard.
“Oh, come, it’s impossible,” said the Duke. “You’re never going to arrest that child?”
“I am, indeed,” said Guerchard. “Her examination this afternoon was in the highest degree unsatisfactory. Her answers were embarrassed, contradictory, and in every way suspicious.”
“And you’ve made up your mind to arrest her?” said the Duke slowly, knitting